


Discovery

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, mention of conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26503786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Hawkeye snoops and finds out something about Charles.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Discovery

He didn’t look angry, just pained and resigned.

“Sorry, Charles. Didn’t mean to get caught up, I swear. I just needed toothpaste, honest.”

Charles Emerson Winchester III didn’t even try to take the book from him. What would be the point, now? Pierce was no fool. He doubtless knew what it was and what it meant and, so, he collapsed into the cot, forgoing any show of dignity. “I take it that I can look forward to being needled about this for the rest of the war?”

“No. Of course not!”

It was then he remembered and blessed Pierce’s nearly pathological need to stand up for the oppressed: the enlisted, the exploited, the discriminated against.

“Thank you, Pierce.”

Despite the silence that held sway in the tent, Hawkeye knew that Winchester wasn’t sleeping. “Want to talk?”

An agonized chuckle answered.  _ Absurd _ , it said.  _ This place. This war. And this most of all, that so favored a man would contain so vast a flaw _ . “Talk? The last thousand years of medicine and of psychiatry has declared me an anomaly and a deviant, Pierce. What can I possibly say in answer?”

“You don’t buy that! You’re educated! What about Ancient Greece? Hell, what about the Kinsey Report? Medicine can be wrong. Psychiatry can change its mind. Come on, let me listen to your troubles. Sometimes they’re smaller if you say them out loud.”

Charles sat up and Pierce shocked him by taking his hand to lend him strength. “You... you aren’t afraid to?”

“Please. We both know that if I was the last man on Earth, you’d choose eternal celibacy before you’d be attracted to me.”

This truth, delivered in so deadpan a manner, soon had them both laughing so hard that their ribs ached and tears rolled down their cheeks.

“Fine,” Winchester agreed, laughter still evident in his voice. “For that, I’ll tell you.”

Pierce squeezed his hand before letting go. “I think it’ll do you some good. I really do.”

But though he opened his mouth as though to speak, no words came.

Pierce realized, then, that Charles hadn’t merely  _ curbed _ this unwanted aspect of himself; he’d nearly killed it.  _ Medical school should have taught you better _ , he thought, heart breaking for the proud, lonely man across from him.  _ You can’t poison one part of yourself and survive. That stuff  _ **_spreads_ ** . He doubted this single session could do it, but he silently vowed to make his words into a tourniquet to cut off the venom’s advance and to draw out what he could in order to allow Charles to get well.

“When did you know?” Hawkeye prompted.

“Always, I suppose. Though I didn’t know that I was different until age nine. My parents began having hushed conversations. My father seemed more disappointed in me than usual. I believe he even accused my poor mother of having an affair, because no son of his could possibly be ‘one of them.’”

Pierce’s eyes shined with sympathy. The poison made more sense now. The decision to resort to it wasn’t born of self-loathing, but of a desire to prune the stock back into the desired Winchester mold. Even Charles’ boasts about his family took on a new light; he was proud, true, but also desperate to live up to that ideal, an outsider in his own life.

“What happened?”

“A team of psychiatrists came. I didn’t learn their trade until much later, of course. I only knew that they were to fix me. They plundered my dreams, explaining where they had gone wrong or were immoral. They instructed my parents in which novels should be removed from my shelves, which films I should be forbidden to see.”

Something inside of Pierce tightened. There was something more that had been done, something worse. “They treated you, didn’t they? It wasn’t just talk.”

“Quite right. There were injections to sicken me. Electricity to refine me by fire. In some ways, it spurred my desire to be a physician. Once I understood the chemical composition of those drugs and why they did what they did, the effects lost their terror.”

“I’m so sorry they did that to you.”

He looked surprised. “It was not your doing. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. As you can see, I made it out the other side of that darkness. I grew up, I moved out.”

“And you pretended to be cured.”

“I had no wish to be cast aside. I know what you think- that it comes down to money, but that isn’t true. I have a younger sister whom I adore. If I had not engaged in this unending pretense, played at being normal, they would have kept her from me.”

Pierce didn’t need to ask about more recent history. He suspected that college had conferred some much needed freedom and that Charles had found a few like-minded bedmates. Medical school would have been even better; doctors were a liberal bunch and the sheer strain of coursework and eventual residency led one to seek comfort without being too picky about the form in which it came.  _ But whoever you found and whatever sweet promises you made in the dark, you’re alone now - and have been for a long time _ .

“Does she know?”

Pain convulsed his features for a moment. “Yes.”

“And she adores you.”

“Yes.”

“Well at least there’s that.”  _ You know it’s possible, anyway, to be accepted on your own terms, to be embraced as your true self _ .

“Pierce, may I ask you a question?”

“I’d say you’ve earned it, sure.” The man looked exhausted. And why not? His emotions had ricocheted from extreme to extreme like a pinball: the fear and agony of being found out, relief at being accepted, pain at reliving bad memories - and all after hours in surgery.

“Why are you so accepting?”

Hawkeye’s reply took the form of a slow, strange smile - if so aching an expression could be called a smile at all.  _ Skulls grin like that _ , thought Winchester.  _ Or men feigning bravery as they’re led to a gallows _ . “Oh my god. You and Hunnicutt!?”

The wild, fey grin only sharpened. “Just me, actually.”

_ And you love him. Oh my god. You love him and you’re forced to sleep eight inches apart from him... how terribly cruel _ ! “Pierce, I am sorry.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “I’m used to it. But you see, Charles, you’re not alone.”

It seemed impossible. He’d known so few men like himself. What was the chance he’d find another - not just in Korea, but in his own tent?

“You look worn down to a shadow,” Pierce added. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“Thank you. I shall try.”

And for the first time, he did sleep well. Being known allowed him to get more comfortable. The Swamp would never be home, but that night it at least felt safe.

***

After that, some wall between them came down. On another dark night, when BJ was in the office calling home, Hawkeye asked, “Do you ever wish you were normal?”

Because the question was so honest, Winchester found himself answering honestly and saying what he’d never said before to anyone. “I’m afraid it would take my gift,” he admitted. “I know that life does not work that way, of course, but what inborn fear ever withered in the face of logic?”

Pierce mock-toasted him. “Is there anyone here...?”

Winchester smiled; what a tribute to their state, that they could speak so effectively in silences and gaps! Unable to resist funning Pierce in one of his rare, serious moods, Winchester said, straight-faced, “Hunnicutt is nice.”

“Ha ha. Try again.”

“You won’t laugh?”

Pierce never would have told him, but vulnerability wasn’t a bad look for Charles. It made him softer, more approachable. “Scouts honor,” he promised.

“Corporal Maxwell Klinger.” The precise way he said the name told Pierce a great deal.

Charles expected jibes about the other man’s femininity or something about going the easiest route. “I can see it,” Hawkeye said at last. “Klinger would be good for you.”

“How so?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“Well, you’re still shy about who you are.” This was his shorthand for: _ you’re too hard on yourself _ . “Klinger doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He’d be fun. Loosen you up.”

“Regretfully, the Corporal is married,” Charles reminded him.

“ _ Was _ married,” Hawk corrected.

“To a woman.”

“Ah, but he did wear white. Which means he didn’t sleep with her.”

“Pierce, you’re mad!”

“Oh, come on, let me at least find out,” the captain pressed him.

“Find out what?”

“If he’d be interested. I know you won’t believe it, but I can be subtle when I want to. I won’t give you away.”

Charles didn’t say no and Pierce rubbed his hands together. “Oh goody, oh goody!” He paused then, “There is one complication, though.”

Charles raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Merely one?” but he said only, “What’s that?”

“I don’t know if Klinger owns heels tall enough to kiss you.”

“Who says we’ll be standing up?”

The last thing Charles heard before drifting off was Pierce’s mischievous, tickled laughter.

***

Not one to do things in half measures, Pierce didn’t wait long to dig into the love life of their adorable Corporal. It was easy enough to grab a seat with him during lunch; Klinger was preternaturally friendly. It gave him hope. If Charles had to fall in love with an unlikely character, at least it was one who bloomed under praise and kindness like sunflowers under June rain. 

_ Geronimo _ , thought the doctor as he took a fortifying swig of coffee and asked, “How’s your love life these days, Klinger?”

Klinger was accustomed to Hawkeye goofing around. “Did ‘how are you?’ get boring again, sir? Or is this more like that time you started answering the phones with ‘ahoy?’”

“Call it a poll. Or maybe inspiration for the line of romance novels I’m going to write in my spare time after the war. You’d inspire some top notch characters, Klinger. And of both genders, I might add.” 

“Thanks, but you know I don’t kiss and tell, sir.”

“I’m only interested in the first half. Has it been a good season or not?” Klinger didn’t answer in words, but Hawkeye was good at reading faces.  _ Can you say ‘drought’? _ he thought. He hoped that was good news for Winchester. “That bad, huh?”

“You try being a guy in a dress, sir. The women that come to my tent want to borrow my clothes so some other guy can tear ‘em off of them. As for the guys, I get plenty of compliments until they realize…” He trailed off. 

“I’m not going to judge you,” Hawk assured him. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of things about me.”

It was true. And if half of  _ them _ were true, “adventurous” was a tame descriptor for the surgeon. Hawkeye had once filled an army jeep with personnel to win a record; Klinger had heard that he wasn’t adverse to packing them into his bed, either. 

“Hawk, you aren’t asking me about this because we haven’t gotten a new nurse in awhile, right?”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m not your type, Klinger?”

It made him laugh and wave him off. “I’m sure I’d be lucky, sir, but, uh, no.”

“You’re too high maintenance for me, Klinger, so don’t worry. I could never afford to keep you in nylons, never mind bobby pins.” 

“So why the sudden interest?”

“I can’t be worried about you as a friend?”

“It’s just that you haven’t worried up until now, sir. Radar, sure. But me?”

He hadn’t said it to sting, but it did, a little anyway. Maybe Hawkeye had been guilty of looking at Klinger as an extension of the litters he carried or the X-rays he developed. “It’s just that you’re always so upbeat,” he began, but stopped when he realized that he’d just never looked closer. Klinger was as exhausted and debilitated as the rest of them, he realized; he just wore his good humor as a shield.  _ I thought  _ **_you’d_ ** _ be good for Charles, but maybe you need  _ **_him_ ** _ , too. The way he said your name… you deserve to hear somebody sound like that over you.  _

“You’re looking at me funny, sir,” the Corporal informed him, looking pretty concerned himself. “And this isn’t even one of my better outfits.”

_ I’m trying to decide how much I can say _ . “Klinger, say for instance it’s not just you I’m worried about.”

“Sounds about right, sir.”

It stung  _ again  _ and Hawk made a mental note to talk with Beej about adding Klinger to the roll of NCOs they looked after… though maybe they wouldn’t need to if events unfolded in a positive way. “What if I told you that I knew someone who’s crazy about you?” 

This news was not met with either the gushing enthusiasm or dewy-eyed hope he’d counted on. “I would say ‘how much is this person into you for?,’ sir.” 

Hawkeye was so thrown that he felt like throwing something himself just to disperse the kinetic energy of frustration. “How can you think that!?” 

Klinger shrugged. “Look at it from where I’m sitting. I’ve been here as long as you have, sir. I’ve seen you work your way through nurses and corpsmen and visitors but no one’s exactly been beating down my door.” He smiled to show he wasn’t upset, but Hawk couldn’t help but think that it was a damn lonely smile. “So, you tell me - where has this person been? And why do you care one way or another?” 

***

While Hawkeye was being forced to face up to his former treatment of a friend he hadn’t treated as well as he might have, Charles was summoning all of the eloquence he possessed to write a very tricky letter. In it, he acknowledged that the topic about which he was writing was not his business and that he knew that he had no right to broach it, but compassion had compelled him to pick up a pen. He wrote: 

I know very little of you or your wife except that you love one another. You are luckier in that than you may know. I write this not to urge you to profane that love or even to extend it (though of the fact that Pierce would go home with you at the end of the war, I am certain) but only to encourage you to offer what comfort you can. It would be a small thing to allow him to lay beside you, but it would lift a great burden from him. 

He signed it “your friend” on monogrammed stationary and hoped he would not lose the appellation by writing. 

***

At that moment, Hawkeye Pierce was wishing mightily for the latest Sears & Roebuck catalogue. He needed to flip to the index and see if they sold tap shoes, because Klinger’s uncharacteristic mistrust really had him dancing! 

“Look, Klinger, I can’t just give you a name. I promised.”

The Corporal appeared to be done with this strange conversation. “No offense, Captain, but who gave you the right to make promises with me in the middle of them? I’m not some nurse you can auction off with a three day pass, y’know.” 

_ When did I get so  _ **_bad_ ** _ at this _ ? Hawk found himself wondering. He took a deep breath, hoping to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Klinger, I’m trying to do something nice for you, I swear. Does Father Mulcahy still keep the bibles in the potato bin? I will get one and swear on it if that’ll help.” 

This at least got Klinger to unthaw a little. “Sorry, Captain. I don’t mean to sound suspicious, but I’m not like you and some of the other sirs, sir.”  _ And I’ve taken a lot of grief for it, too.  _

“What do you mean, Klinger?” It was in that moment he realized how very young the Corporal looked. 

Klinger also looked worried, like he’d gotten in over his head. “Never mind.”

“No, go ahead. Really. I sat down and started asking you inappropriate questions, so go right ahead.” 

“I just… I don’t want the supply tent, alright? Or the back of a jeep.”

“You want more from someone than the ability to work a zipper,” Hawk translated. “Or unhook a bra in your case.”

“Right.” 

Hawkeye thought about Charles. Could there really be a  _ less  _ likely candidate for a fling? “Klinger, I’ve got great news for you.” 

***

Charles expected - and probably deserved - Hunnicutt waving his missive in his face and shouting at him. What he did in response was to stay quite calm and grow quiet and to tell Hunnicutt in as plain language as he could manage (he knew that it annoyed the man when he meandered) about what had been done to him and what Pierce had done to help him heal. 

“Damn you, Charles,” Hunnicutt said when he finished. He was furious with the man - but not, as Charles initially believed, for his note or for trying to do something for Pierce which involved him. “We’re your friends, you absolute ass,” he told the other surgeon. “We would have helped you, supported you.”

Charles tried to speak, but Hunnicutt silenced him. “I know. Not part of your experience before this. That makes it hard to accept.” He looked up then, eyes bright with entirely too many emotions. “We are friends now, right? For real? I don’t think you would have chucked your heart at my feet otherwise.”

“It would have been dangerous to do so. They are large feet.” 

BJ faked a kick in his direction. “Idiot. You’re lucky, too. Fact of the matter is, I might have already mentioned to Peg the idea of looking after Hawk… even just summers or something. He won’t be okay after this. Not on his own.”

“I quite agree. Congratulations, Hunnicutt.”

The Californian looked uncomfortable. “Don’t congratulate me yet. I have to work up to telling him.”

“You shall. If you require privacy, I will be happy to make myself scarce.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“Rosie’s, I think. Honoria sent me a new book. Between it and Uijeongbu’s excuse for wine, I should be able to come back to myself a bit.” 

***

The wine did help. It had too much tannin, but if he let himself drift a moment, Charles could pretend to taste notes of blackberry and dark cherry, which made him smile when he thought of Klinger’s silly cherry hat. He imagined lifting its veil, claiming full and trembling lips, finally tasting the lip gloss that shimmered there over lipstick (a purple shade called - offensively, Klinger would have told him - Arabian dusk) that he wanted imprinted on his neck, his cheek… which led him to think of Klinger’s cheekbones, his collarbone, his too thin waist… 

“This stuff is terrible.” 

Winchester blinked, looked up into eyes that were the color, he swore, of a bey horse bred back eight generations, a horse that would win, not by a nose, but an entire proud-flung head. “You’re drinking my wine?” 

“Uh-huh. Thought about doing more than that, but even off-base, it’s not a good idea to assault an officer - especially not a big, tall one.” 

Winchester had been looked over before… but usually those eyes went from evaluation to disappointment in seconds. Klinger’s eyes were shining. “A-assault? Are you not a bit, ah, slender for such escapades?”

“Thanks for steering past ‘cute,’ Major baby. I appreciate it. And ‘assault’s’ not what  _ I’d  _ call it, but I know to be careful. Gentle, too, if you’re interested.” 

“I am, ah, interested in all that you are.” He was frightened, Max could see that, but in earnest, as well. “Maxwell… I… I am interested. I would even go so far as  _ beguiled _ . I am, however, not given to, ah, casual encounters - gentle or otherwise.”

Klinger kissed him. It  _ did  _ feel a little like an assault - hard, fast, determined to get the right angle and depth right away, bypassing courtesies and hesitation and the learning curve at once - but it ended sweet and gentle and still hungry. “Me neither. Didn’t Hawk tell you?” 

“Pierce? No.” Pierce was, it was to be hoped, being welcomed home. 

Klinger made a face. “Captains. They get all into your business and then don’t even deliver the message.”

“You wish the Captain had kept silent?”

“Only if you didn’t. I don’t mind a go-between, though, if you’ll kiss me next time and tomorrow and three weeks from now.”

“After three weeks?”

“Then it’ll be my turn again.” 

Charles stood and took his hand - and the way their fingers fit together, both men could feel it, he wasn’t going to let go. 

End! 


End file.
